


When In Vain

by Sterekorgtfo (DustinMcDreamy)



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Dark Ages, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Dungeons & Dragons Campaign, Fantasy, Homebrew Content, Lore Divergence, Magical Realism, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 18:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30042918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustinMcDreamy/pseuds/Sterekorgtfo
Summary: A cleric, a fighter, a rogue, and a sorcerer (who never would have interacted had fate not intervened) take it upon themselves to defend the small town of Phandalin from a major incoming threat lurking in the forests that threatens to destroy the entire region.= = =A dramatic retelling of my D&D Group's initial campaign; the "Dragon at Icespire Peak" storyline, with minor changes to canon and D&D lore for narrative purposes.





	When In Vain

The sun was high above the small peaceful town of Phandalin. It was a peaceful cluster of civilization secluded along a great lake near the Efergriene Forests.

A nomadic half-orc stepped into the town perimeter. Most small towns like these served as small rest stops for travelers headed to larger cities or more prominent locations. He had been travelling through the country by foot with little more than the war hammer resting on his shoulder blades and a few miscellaneous supplied in his small leather satchel. He lived freely and wished to explore the region and see all that it had to offer as he travelled between outposts of his people.

Tyryant had left the previous town at sunrise. Distances between settlements were sporadic, and he didn’t have a set location in mind. If he left this town now, there was no guarantee he’d hit another by nightfall, despite being capable of hiking more. He would allow himself some rest again.

He made his way to the largest building in town which was almost always the inn and tavern in a town as small as this. As he approached, he noticed two wooden signs hanging near the entrance. One had an image of ale, and the other had an image of a bed; his assumptions had been correct- this was surely an inn and tavern.

He shrugged the war hammer off his shoulders and slid the handle into the hold built into his armor and entered the inn. It was early afternoon, so the place wasn’t full yet, although there was one full table, two patrons at another, and one man alone at the bar directly with the barkeep.

The patrons turned to him as he entered. Small towns tended to do that. They always wanted to see if it was a friend or traveler. Travelers meant business, usually. They gave him some strange stares, which Tyryant was used to.

Most orcs didn’t have skin the color of gold, nor would they wear something like he did. His people would call him a Milácek, but he was similar to what others would refer to as a cleric.

He wore a sacred gown made by the most talented seamsters of his following, using the most precious silks and threads reserved for high honors only: Miláceks and funerals. His robes were often considered feminine by outsiders since the shoulder straps cascaded deep and low , revealing most of his chest and abs, and the lower half was joined in the middle, covering his front and back while revealing his legs. His shoulder armor and waist armor provided him more practicality and modesty, but the fashion was eccentric to many.

He approached the bar and took himself a seat. The bartender gave him a judgmental look as Tyryant sat. “I hope you’re wearing an undergarment under that dress,” the man rudely stated.

Tyryant was used to this treatment from outsiders. While he tried to be gracious and kind and properly represent his people, the orcish nature he always tried constantly to suppress sometimes got the better of him.

“I am sitting on the fabric of my own robes,” Tyryant replied with a dry coldness that revealed his disdain for the comment. “I would like an ale and a room, please.”

The man continued to clean a glass for a moment before acknowledging Tyryant’s request. “The ale will be four copper, the room will be a silver.”

Tyryant reached for his satchel and pulled it in front of him. He searched for his smaller coin purse. He was down to five silver pieces and five coppers. He wouldn’t get much farther with this. He needed a well paying job or bounty.

He set the coins on the counter and the barkeep swept them up with his hand . He poured Tyryant a glass of ale before setting a room key with the number three engraved in the handle. “Rooms are up the stairs,” he stated flatly.

“Is this a town that has work to offer?” Tyryant questioned.

The barkeeper looked pensive at the man. “Like mercenary work? There’s a board by the Townmaster’s house.”

“Thank you. I just need to earn enough to make it through the next few territories,” Tyryant said.

“Don’t orcs tend to keep to themselves in their own strongholds? What brings you to the road?” the barkeep asked.

Tyryant raised a hand and danced with his fingers, causing small golden flames to swirl and stretch around them. “Orcs don’t have an affinity for magic users. I also didn’t fit in their lifestyle in other ways.” He extinguished the flames from his hand and took several chugs from his ale. He hated thinking about his father and the former orc stronghold he was raised in before he left.

“Need another?” the man asked.

Tyryant shook his head. “I shouldn’t. Thank you.”

The barkeep nodded and headed to the other gentleman at the bar. Tyryant finished his drink and made his way upstairs to check his room. There was no point in carrying his travelling bag and his war hammer if he was in a secured town. He also had his magic and brute strength in case of emergency.

He set his Warhammer next to the bed resting against the wall and left his pack on the wooden table, needing only his coin stash at best before leaving the inn to peruse the town of Phandalin.

There was a small shrine named the Shrine of Luck in the same stone square as the inn. Tyryant didn’t require luck; he was the son of the demigod Astamor, and had them looking over him. Still, he was raised to be pay respect to all the other gods, goddesses, and deities; as they often interacted in their heavens and otherworldly planes.

He was well versed in multiple other religions and he offered a traditional prayer for this particular deity. “Thank you for any blessings you are willing to offer,” Tyryant thanked before continuing his tour.

He headed north until he came across the Edermath Orchard. It was quaint, and he saw other farms in the open distance. That was often the amin source of income in small places such as these.

The followers that shared his religion were known as the Cariads of Astamor, and they resided in small communes, smaller than Phandalin for the most part, and they relied on the way of the land much like these farmers. Tyryant enjoyed the atmosphere of it, but he lacked the agricultural talents to help. Luckily, as the child of Astamor, he was treated like royalty and was not expected to contribute much else.

He made his way back into town to explore the rest of the town’s offerings. The only commerce was a woodworker who sold furniture, an armor and weapons shop, and a general store. There were stalls for what Tyryant assumed was a farmer and a butcher, but they were closed now that it was late.

He approached a house slightly larger than the rest of the residential ones, so he assumed this was the Townmaster’s home the innkeeper mentioned. Before the lengthy pathway up to the door, there was a notice board on the street, and there was a heavily armored drow woman standing in front of it with a stern expression. There were lances strapped to the back of her armor, indicating she was quite a warrior.

“Good Evening, ma’am,” Tyryant greeted as he approached.

The woman glanced over at him and he felt her eyes assess him. These didn’t seem to possess judgement, unless she was talented at preventing others from being able to read her.

“I’m not interested in your religion. There are hundreds to follow and I choose none of them,” the woman replied.

Tyryant let out a small smile. He didn’t often get the opportunity for genuine conversation. “I understand your decision. But I wanted to ask if you could step to the left a bit so I could also read the bounties.”

The woman let out a small chuckle. “Sorry,” she said as she obliged. “Since when do clerics do merc work?”

“Until food puts itself on the table. I haven’t acquired that particular conjuration yet, though,” Tyryant replied.

“Sounds like a good investment,” she replied.

“It would be,” Tyryant replied. “But then I wouldn’t get to smash things with my war hammer.”

This must have piqued the fighter’s attention because her pale red eyes glistened as her small smirk grew larger. “A war hammer you say? Why don’t you have it on you?”

“Because the town is peaceful and people find me intimidating when I wield it in the open,” Tyryant replied.

“I understand,” the woman said. “People see a fierce drow and run scared. It’s funny most of the time, but it has disadvantages.”

“Well,” Tyryant said as he reached his hand out in a greeting. “Here’s to no judgements. I’m Tyryant de Astamor.”

She took his hand and gripped it tightly before shaking. “Celeste Elbereth.”

“So, Celeste, which bounty did you set your sights on?” Tyryant asked.

She pressed her long, gray fingers into one of the parchments pinned to the wood. “Assist Dwarven Excavators,” she said.

Tyryant moved in closer and squinted at the parchment. “Assist two dwarves clear excavation site of hostile orcs,” he read.

“You wouldn’t be mad if I took this job would you? You look like you’re only half-orc, but I don’t know if that would cause tension,” she explained.

“Orcs can be cruel and brutish depending on the stronghold they were raised in. There are good orcs, bad orcs, allies, and adversaries. I have empathy towards them, but not blind allegiance. If violence is the only option, I will do what is necessary,” Tyryant said.

“The job is still mine, I’m just glad our new acquaintanceship isn’t ruined,” Celeste said.

“That notice indicates multiple orcs. Have you ever fought an orc before?” Tyryant asked.

Celeste smirked confidently. “I’ve fought everything.”

“Multiple orcs at once? By yourself?” Tyrant asked.

Celeste’s expression didn’t change much, but Tyryant felt a hesitation. “Are you saying you doubt my capabilities?”

Tyryant smiled back at the deflection. “I’m saying you don’t have to take unnecessary risks. That bounty says three hundred silver pieces. One-fifty each is more than enough for us both, and it’ll be easier and safer.” Celeste looked at him, contemplating his words carefully. “Notice how they didn’t give a specific number of orcs. Could be three. Could be ten.”

“Imma need more than a war hammer, then,” Celeste said.

Tyryant raised up his hand and it ignited with a golden fire. “I offer thee arcane assistance. I can also heal our wounds,” Tyryant suggested.

Celeste sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine, we’ll go halfsies. We’ll head out at sunrise. Do you stay in town?”

“I’m a nomad,” Tyryant replied. “I am merely journeying the country in search of the outposts of my people. We are a small religion, and therefore few and far between at times.”

“I’m a traveler too, a mercenary. Last town ran out of money for me,” Celeste said.

“They say good help is hard to find,” Tyryant replied.

“And great help doesn’t come cheap,” she said with a smirk. They made their way back to the inn before having a meal and drink together at the bar. Another silver coin of Tyryant’s was spent. This should hopefully be an efficient quest for them. He needed the funds as soon as possible.

“Tell me about your religion,” Celeste said with a mouth full of food. They had been getting to know one another since they were about to embark on a quest together, and they needed to kill time until this evening, so they maya s well spend time with one another.

“When the gods first created people, we existed only to provide them with tribute. Everything was labor from us to them. There were no pastimes, there was no pleasure. Food was nourishment only, and it wasn’t enjoyed. Fire kept us alive but it was…dull, in a sense. It wasn’t beautiful. Astamor had passion in their veins and it needed to be shared, so Astamor took their heart from their chest with a dagger similar to this-”.

Tyryant took out an ornate dagger with a blade that was shaped with a unique wave. The handle and edges of the blade were covered in a dazzling gold. “Astamor put their heart on an open fire, which is where we get _hearth_ from, and their heart burnt off into flakes. Those flakes spread through the winds and touched the hearts of many. Those that the flakes touched could have sex for pleasure now, and it’s not limited to the same race or opposite sex. Food tasted good for everyone now, we can pursue hobbies, and fire is magnificent now.”

“Did a flake touch you?” Celeste asked.

Tyryant shook his head. “It didn’t have to. Astamor is reborn every few decades and roams the planes to copulate children. I am one of those children, also known as a Milácek by our people. That’s why I have clerical abilities and the others do not. Once Astamor has enough children for their stay on this realm, they set their heart on fire again and make more burning flakes. That’s why you see more and more people accepting to love of same-sex or interracial relationships.”

Celeste nodded her head as she ate. “So is Astamor your mom or dad? You haven’t made it clear.”

“Astamor changes their form to be either the impregnator or the impregnated at will. Astamor took on the form of a human woman for my conception. They were held as a concubine for my father, an orcish warlord. He thought he had made a conquest but he was merely a pawn in my parent’s strategy for copulation. He was not happy once his concubine turned to light and disappeared. He was less happy when he found out I could do magic. And when he found out I liked men, that was my final day in the stronghold,” Tyryant explained.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Celeste said as she took a drink.

“I much prefer life with the Cariads of Astamor, the followers who have been touched by one of the flakes of the heart. We live in scattered outposts throughout the country,” Tyryant said.

“So you’re like a god to them, if you’re this deity’s child?” Celeste asked.

“It’s a favorable position of honor, but every outpost is humble. I have no mansion and no riches. The most I offer them is wisdom, insight, and comfort,” Tyryant replied.

Celeste gave a disappointed look. “I kind of wanted you to have an easy life so I could hate you a little.”

Tyryant gave a sympathetic smile. “Well, I do benefit from many privileges the nomadic life has to offer. I am not bound to debt or obligations. I do a large job such as this, and I take my leave.” He stared at Celeste curiously as to why she would wish misfortune on him when they were getting along. “I assume your life has not been an easy one?”

Celeste chuckled as she took a generous swig of her drink. “No it has not. But I am not getting into that with a stranger. We’re here to do a job and take our leave, remember?”

Tyryant nodded. “Those were my words.”

Celeste smiled and turned to her food when all of a sudden, her smile turned to an angry, violent scowl. She quickly twisted to her side and out of Tyryant’s view. When she turned back, in her hand was a screaming gnome, who was quickly slammed on top of the bar counter.

Tyryant jumped in surprise out of his stool as he had not even seen the man near them as the bar wasn’t that full.

“Would you like to explain to me why your hand was in my belongings, you pickpocket!?” she angrily threatened.

The gnome clad in light leather garb coughed beneath her fist as he was pinned against the wood. “Surely there’s been some misunderstanding, miss. I only accidentally brushed against you. I had a few and the room is all….squiggly,” he explained.

“There is no alcohol on his breath,” Tyryant stated. “I sense an attempt at deception.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Celeste replied sternly. “Give me a reason I shouldn’t kill you.” She applied more pressure to the gnome man and he coughed some more.

“I am jus’ a civilian, lady. I’m half ya size and unah’med. Is this how ya treat people? It was jus’ an accident,” the man replied.

“You can’t pickpocket a drow. We invented pickpocketing,” Celeste replied in an annoyed tone.

“You’re a pickpocket!? THIEF! THIEF!” the gnome exclaimed.

Celeste let out an angry, exasperated groan. “Tyryant, check him and see if he has a black pouch on him with the initials C.E.” Tyryant began to pat and reach into the man’s pockets per Celeste’s request.

“Hey man, can you’s maybe put ahn a lil’ more clothes before you feel me like this? Your entire tits are out and each one is the same size as me,” the man protested.

“No pouch, but a few more coins that one usually carries in an unsecure pocket,” Tyryant said as he held out his hand. One of the coins was not currency, and Celeste’s eyes grew with rage as she snatched them.

“That’s funny,” she growled. “I don’t remember giving you my troop’s badge, nor do I remember you in my infantry.”

“You don’t remember me, good ol’….C.E? I was there!” he pleaded. She dragged him off the bar , knocking a plate and glass onto the ground as she carried him towards the door. He squirmed and tried to break free, but wasn’t able to in the soldier’s grip.

“Surely we can talk about this, eh?” he asked before he was thrown through the air, landing roughly on the ground. “What about my money? At least three of those silver pieces were mine that I had already….acqui-ya’d.”

“Consider it an inconvenience fee,” Celeste replied sternly as she slammed the door to the bar closed. The few patrons who had gotten a free show just looked in an uncomfortable awe. “Sorry for the unpleasant evening,” she said as she headed back to the bar, kicking a pieces of glass and ceramic away. He put two of the gnome’s silver pieces on the table. “For the mess and damage.”

The barkeeper took it and nodded. “Thank you, miss,” he said before going to grab a broom. “Mind moving to a table for me?”

“Sure,” she replied. “Thank you.

Tyryant grabbed his drink and food before following. “So, you have former military expertise?”

“Still not talking about it,” Celeste said.

The gnome got up off of the ground to which he had been thrown to and brushed some of the dirt off of his leathers. “Ya win somes, ya lose somes,” he muttered to himself in an upbeat tone as he made his way slightly outside of town to an abandoned partially destroyed barn house outside of town.

In the corner of the dark unlit structure was a stone manhole cover in the floor, which would have been imperceivable for those not knowing what to look for. He lifted the stone to reveal a ladder; to which he climbed down and recovered the secret entrance.

He followed the secret tunnel towards the light and the sound of merry music. At the end of the path was a secret underground tavern. There were multiple gnomes, drow, and other rogues drinking, playing cards, and laughing with intense camaraderie of one another.

“Oy! Dmitri!” another gnome woman hollered from a table. She was accompanied by four others, who seemed expectant of him.

He put on a smile and approached them all. “Yeah, yeah, I’m back, I’m back. I know yous all miss me, being the favorite sibling and all.”

All of his siblings at the table laughed heartily at that and Dmitri scowled, putting his hands on his hips as he waited for them to be more respectful.

“How much did you score?” a larger, elder brother of his asked.

“Well ya see, it’s complicated,” Dmitri started. “Phandalin is such a poor town. I put my hand in every pocket, and each one was rather….dusty. I reckon we bled that town dry by now.”

“So you’re saying you failed?” the sister asked.

“That’s not what I’m saying, Giovanna, I’s saying that you can’t steal money that doesn’t exist,” Dmitri retorted.

“That bruise on your face tells me otherwise,” another brother added, pointed to Dmitri’s face.

Dmitri rubbed his face questioningly, feeling the soreness. It must have occurred when his face hit the pavement after being launched out of the bar by the strong woman. “Oh this? It’s the darndest thing…I was petting a goat, it was a really cute goat, and it loved me so much it have me a headbutt which means ‘I love you’ it goat language. Ahhh….so precious,” Dmitri lied.

“Yeah, right! You probably got caught and got your ass kicked!” one of the brothers jested, getting laughter from the rest of his siblings.

“I would never lie to my own bretherin, and I’m very offended you think I am incapable of earning a goat’s love,” he replied.

“On the contrary,” his brother added, holding back strained laughter. “I think the love of a goat is the only love you’re frequently getting!”

All of his siblings had much more eruptuous laughter and Dmitri sighed to himself. “Yeah, I kinda walked into that one. Alright, that’s enough. Shouldn’t we all be resting for our heist tomorrow?”

“Oh no, no way,” Giovanna added. “If you can’t handle the little leagues, there’s no way you’re going to fuck up our score tomorrow.”

“What!? Are you kiddin’ me!? We been planning this for weeks! I am an excellent thief! You need me!”

“Go back to pickpocketing and prove to us that you can handle yourself, and we’ll think about letting you on the next one,” the eldest brother stated.

“Fuck you, Aldo,” Dmitri said as he flipped off all of his siblings. “I hope you all get caught and get sent to jail without my help, bitches.”

“Likewise, little bro!” Giovanna exclaimed as Dmitri stormed out. Phandalin was the closest town, but he had been made. His cover was blown and his family disregarded him until he made a good score.

Before he attempted the swipe off that armored woman, they were talking about doing a job tomorrow, one that would pay well. They were big and muscley, so whatever the job was, they could handle it no problem. He just had to convince them to let him in on the team. He’d barely have to lift a finger, and he’d have a second chance to swipe a few of their shares off them. It was a perfect con; get hired to do a job and then let others do the work. He made his way back to the inn and would approach the duo in the morning.

Tyryant woke up the next morning, fully relaxed and motivated for a successful job thanks to the skills of the sexy farmer who was still sound asleep in his bed. He left quietly, putting on his robes and his golden armor before stepping out of the room with his belongings and his war hammer before he made his way downstairs.

Celeste was already in the tavern below, the only patron. The morning barkeep was still preparing a breakfast spread for morning patrons.

“Good Morning!” the chipper female barkeep greeted as he descended. “I rarely have company this early in the morning! Would you care for some coffee, dear?”

“No thank you,” Tyryant said as he placed the room key on the counter. “A gentleman is still sleeping, but he’ll likely stumble out soon.”

“A stumble? I hope he didn’t drink too much last night,” she commented.

“That’s not why he’ll be stumbling,” Tyryant said nonchalantly, ignoring the woman’s confused expression.

Celeste just let out a small entertained huff as she took another sip of her coffee. “Are you ready to head out?”

“Yes. Let us be on our way,” Tyryant replied.

They made their way out of the inn when they paused to see a familiar gnome on the street. “There you two finally are! I’ve been waiting hours for yous two!”

Celeste grabbed one of the lances from her back and got into a ready stance. “People usually aren’t so eager to get beaten to a pulp,” she threatened.

Dmitri let out a small chuckle. “There’s no need for that, my lady. I can’t help but feel we got off on the wrong foot. The name’s Dmitri Vanolo, and I would like to sincerely apologize to yous about my behave-yah yestahday. I am here to offer my assistance. I couldn’t help but over hea’ that yous was going to fight some orcs and you wasn’t sure how many there’d be. Allow me to add a plus one to your defense or your offense, or whatever fence you’d like me to be on. All I ask is the chance to earn some money the proper way for my dear family so I can put the food on the tables.”

“I’d rather eat rancid hobgoblin jerky than have you accompany me,” Celeste replied. “I would trust a necromanced cannibal to not eat me before I trust you to work with you without foul play.”

“Oof!” Dmitri said, dramatically collapsing his hands over his heart. “Your words wound me, fair lady. What about you, Sir…Thighs-a-Lot…surely a man of your….confidence…can show a little confidence in me?”

“Tyryant,” the half-orc corrected. “We are profound warriors and I am skilled in the arcane. What do you bring to the table?”

“I am glad you asked, Mistah Teary-Ant,” Dmitri replied. “Let me see what I can do to prove my worth to you twos.” Dmirtri looked around and spotted a barrel a decent distance down the street from where they stood. “What if I told you I can hit the exact center of that barrel from here with this dagger?” He pulled out a shining dagger from his pocket; its metal glistened in the dim light as the sun was only barely starting to rise.

“It would be a little impressive, but not enough for me. Anyone in my infantry could pull that off,” Celeste said.

“What if I add that I can do it while facing you twos?” Dmitri said with a cocky smirk.

An intrigue smile crept on Celeste’s face. She liked a challenge. “Fine, go ahead.”

Dmitri stayed facing Tyryant and Celeste, but looked around his shoulder to calculate. He raised his hand up and down a few times, feeling the weight of the dagger and planning his strike. After a few bounces, he shucked it behind him, and the dagger flew through the town until it impaled the exact center of the wooden barrel Dmitri had been aiming for, shattering the wood in multiple directions, causing the wood to collapse in pieces and allowing the apples and oranges stored within to roll through the street.

“How about them a-”

“DON’T finish that sentence,” Celeste interrupted.

“I know all the pressure points and vital weaknesses on the bodies. My daggers do as much damage as that bludgeoning hammer of yours if not more. I am small and can sneak around undetected. Plus, I make a little concoction of some sleeping poison to knock out our enemies. I am a great asset to you both,” Dmitiri explained.

“Funny how that doesn’t reassure me to have you by my side,” Celeste stated.

“Are you serious right now? I can’t get paid unless you get paid. Therefore I have no reason to harm ya,” Dmitri argued. “What about you, big guy? What do you think?”

“I think he’s fun, and I have no more money to be stolen,” Tyryant said, looking to Celeste. “However-” he turned back to Dmitri. “Since you owe us, and this is meant to be an apology for trying to rob Celeste, I will pay you twenty-five silver pieces out of my own share only.”

“Twenty-five silver? That’s all?” Dmitri shouted, dumbfounded.

“That’s much more than you’ll get from the pockets of these townspeople. Even if a person had two to three silver on them, you’re looking at eight to twelve marks,” Celeste replied. “And I doubt many are carrying more than that. You’ll be lucky to get coppers.”

Dmitri grumbled, unhappy with the offer, but they were right. He was desperate for his in, and the townspeople here were, in fact, kind of on the poor side. “You have yourself a deal. I, Dmitri Vanolo, accept the offer.”

“Good. If you try anything funny, I’ll rip your manhood off of you,” Celeste said.

Dmitri made a concerned wince. “Understood, lady. I’m rather fond of my manhood, thank you.”

“I am of mine as well,” Tyryant added.

“Yeah, I bet,” Dmitri replied with a concerned expression, judging Tyryant’s clerical robes. “Shall we be on the way then?”

“Fine,” Celeste replied. “Start walking.”

“Of course, Miss….” Dmitri replied, probing for him name as she hadn’t introduced herself to him yet. She was aware of this, and instead just glared at him as she walked past him, with Tyryant following.

“Celeste,” he whispered.

“Thank you, Teary-Ant,” Dmitri replied as he followed the two larger party members as they made their way out of town, starting out on their initial mission together; one that they would not anticipate that would change the course of their lives forever…

**Author's Note:**

> Dmitri speaks with a Boston-esque accent that I have tried to show. I'm sorry for any difficulty when reading his lines.


End file.
